Picture this: it was my third date with a boy that I’d known a week, or maybe two. I was 19, he was 20, we were making out in a bed. True story, by the way. Inevitably, the dreaded topic arose.
“So, do you want to have sex?”
I stumbled through the reply I’d launched at countless romantic hopefuls. “You know, I just don’t know you well enough yet. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I want to know you better before I do something that intimate with you.”
“What more is there to know?” This is an actual quote, by the way–not just my biased reconstruction of what he said. I knew that he worked at a factory, liked marine biology, and was originally from Ohio. This, somehow, constitutes “knowing somebody.”
“Listen, I just want to be totally comfortable with and trust the person I do that with,” I replied.
“You know, my first time was very anticlimactic,” he said. “Holding off will just increase your expectations and you’ll be more disappointed. It’s really not a big deal.” Reread this. He was actually trying to coerce me into having sex with him by letting me know in advance that I wouldn’t enjoy it. I can’t make this shit up.
“Listen, the more you try to change my mind, the less I’m comfortable with the idea,” I replied, growing exasperated.
And then he launched into a lovely story. Apparently, he knew a girl that we’ll call Katie. Katie was absolutely adamant that she would only have sex after she was married. Many boys came along who would have suited Katie very well but she constantly turned down their sexual advances, and so they moved right along. Finally, there came one boy—we’ll call him John—and John was a loser. A real loser. But John was willing to wait for Katie, because apparently he was a total loser and didn’t have any better options. So after a year or two they finally married, and probably ended up having some very bad sex.
After the story was done, I asked, “Hmm. Well. What exactly are you trying to say to me with that story?”
He just blinked with those cow eyes of his. “Nothing. It was just a story.”
Now, I’m going to be honest. I’m not a very strong-willed person. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have sex with the guy, thank every star above. But I didn’t really call him out on his bullshit either. But if I had told him what was on my mind, this is how it would have gone:
“Really? Really, just a story? Because if I didn’t know any better, it sounded like you were implying that if I tell a guy he can’t have sex with me after a week of knowing me, he’ll leave me. And that it's not at all his fault for deciding that my body is at a higher priority than my mind, it’s a problem with me for not being perfectly willing to have my boundaries trod upon. And then I’ll end up like Katie, because only losers can keep their dicks in their pants and only bitches won’t put out on the first date.”
The thing is, I’m not a “prude.” I’m not waiting until marriage. Hell, I’d rather not wait at all; I feel perfectly ready right now. But I’m not going to have sex with someone who obviously doesn’t care about me. Since they don’t care about me, not only will my mind be uninterested, but they’re going to totally suck at what they’re doing, because, as I mentioned before, they don’t care about me. They care about pleasing themselves.
And I’m not even looking for great sex—I’m pretty sure the first few times will be unpleasant—but if you care about someone, and they care about you, then it doesn’t matter because it will still be a worthwhile experience. But having sex with someone who doesn’t care about me feels like a waste of energy, and so I don’t have it. That’s my decision. And by God, if that means I’ll be a virgin until I’m 35, so be it.
While there’s nothing wrong with waiting, there’s also nothing wrong with not waiting. What the hell was the feminist movement for if not to give us this freedom? Being willing and capable of enjoying sex sooner with your partner is not something to be ashamed about.
It’s not one or the other. It’s not that all women, when properly liberated, will want to have sex with any person who walks their way. And it’s not that all women, when properly liberated, will want to wait until their wedding day. It’s both. Some women wait, some women don’t, and the time in-between is different for everyone. That’s true liberation: for women to feel comfortable declining or engaging in sex without outside interference.
It’s not a matter of me being repressed and other girls being liberated, or me being a prude while others are slutty. We’re all practicing our sexual freedom. Not having sex is as sexually freeing as having it, in my opinion.
Now, if only college boys could get this through their thick-ass skulls.
